Klingons?

But there was no time for surprise, as one of them was swinging a bat’leth at his head. Rourke was still bracing against the control panel to keep his footing, and barely pivoted away in time. The blade’s edge raked against his breastplate and the impact alone was enough to knock the breath from him, but it also sent him staggering back just out of reach.

They were outnumbered and had been dazed, but the six Klingons had to pause to take stock of the situation. That was enough for Lotharn’s guard, who had planted himself behind cover and was spraying disruptor fire. It forced a couple of the Klingons to hunker down in the warren of control panels in here, the facility’s command centre and dead heart. But the others were moving, though all Rourke had time to see were the swirling shadows where the other warriors were engaged.

But he couldn’t help them before he helped himself. He’d dropped his rifle and the Klingon was coming at him again, bat’leth in a wide swing that’d shatter his ribs if it made contact. Rourke had to twist on his feet to juke back so it missed him only by inches – and so he could lunge in turn. It was rarely a good idea to get close to a Klingon in a wrestling match, but in that moment, the reach of a bat’leth was worse than the enemy’s raw strength.

He drove his elbow into the warrior’s chest, though body armour dulled that impact more than he’d hoped. The bat’leth clattered to the deck as the Klingon dropped it, then strong arms settled around Rourke for what had abruptly become a wrestling match. The hands on his shoulders tried to wrench him back, but Rourke used the momentum to drag the Klingon with him.

They hit a control panel and tumbled over it, hitting the deck and rolling, both sides trying to get the upper hand. Now it was a match of strength with a Klingon, and that was a contest Rourke knew he couldn’t win, within moments ending up on his back with the warrior above him.

But in accepting the loss, he’d managed to pull his phaser pistol from its holster, and even as the Klingon leered in victory, he rammed the barrel into his gut and pulled the trigger.

By the time he’d shoved the Klingon off him and staggered to his feet, phaser in one hand, the warrior’s mek’leth in the other – a blade of a weight and size he was much more confident with – things had shifted. One warrior was down, brought low by Lotharn’s guard’s fire, but Rourke couldn’t see the Romulan, either. Lotharn himself was locked in a fight with two, a long Romulan blade in his hand, while towards the door Juarez wrestled another. That left –

Rourke barely brought the mek’leth up in time as he turned to parry the swing from the last warrior’s blade, and he had to twist it to deflect the sheer force. This Klingon had his own shorter sword out and looked older, likely wise enough to know a bat’leth was often an unsuitable weapon in confined environments. Scars across his face suggested this was hard-won wisdom, and the flurry of blows between them as Rourke tried to drive him back stamped that experience plain. Each of Rourke’s attacks was countered with skill and grace and experience –

Then the Klingon pivoted, and in the dim lighting Rourke saw the crest on his baldric. His jaw dropped, and he braced to a defensive posture.

‘You’re House of K’Var?’ he snarled in shock. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

The Klingon did hesitate at that, obviously surprised at being recognised. But his lip curled. ‘Conquering enemies while the High Council refuses to answer a call to war.’

It was just as well Rourke had been surprised into a defensive stance; it was how he won. The Klingon came at him and Rourke raked his mek’leth up in response, avoiding the blow and slashing viciously across the Klingon’s forearm with the secondary blade. As the warrior reeled he stepped in, and found he had no good choice but to drive the main blade into the Klingon’s gut.

That close, you had to keep going until your enemy dropped. When Rourke straightened, breathing ragged, his opponent on the deck before him, the fight had shifted. Juarez was still locked in a wrestling match, but Lotharn had dropped one of his opponents. Now the Romulan listed, fighting defensively, green blood oozing down the side of his face.

It was no real choice that had Rourke again draw his phaser and pick a target. Lotharn was simply in more danger. But the fact remained that heartbeats after Rourke took careful aim and Stunned the Klingon fighting the Romulan commander, the last Klingon drove his blade into Juarez’s chest.

‘Lieutenant!’ Rourke spun, phaser ready – but it was a disruptor blast that took the Klingon, Lotharn quicker to drag up the rifle his guard had left on the deck, and as suddenly as the violence had started, it stopped.

Rourke flew across the control room to sink to his knees in a pool of Juarez’s blood. The young officer was on his back, eyes wide, a dak’tagh jutting from his chest through the body armour.  Their eyes met for a moment, for one last thudding heartbeat, before Juarez gave a weak gurgle – and went still.

Ignoring Lotharn, Rourke’s hand smashed into his combadge. ‘Rourke to Endeavour, I need you to beam Lieutenant Juarez straight to sickbay -’

But Lieutenant Lindgren’s voice in his ear sounded fraught. ‘Captain – I’m sorry, our shields are up, we’re in a firefight against Klingons here.’

‘I know, it’s the House of K’Var, they boarded Petrarch…’ And Rourke’s gut went cold as implications sank in. Juarez was too far gone, and there was no way he was getting him to sickbay in time. The nearest medkit was on the Prydwen, docked on Petrarch. And Klingons had surged aboard where the life-signs were strongest. ‘Shit.’ He smashed his combadge again. ‘Rourke to Prydwen. Tarran, Hale, come in.’

The crackling silence was dented only by Lotharn’s footfalls, and only then did Rourke realise he had his back to his armed enemy. But all Lotharn did was say in a low voice, ‘My man’s dead, too. They’ll have cut off the route to my shuttle.’

Rourke looked up, chest tight, and shot to his feet. While he watched Lotharn, he tilted his head to address his combadge, speak to Lindgren. ‘Patch me tactical data to my tricorder, Lieutenant. All the scans you have of the number and location of lifesigns on the facility, too.’

‘Doing it, sir. I can guide you from here. But we’ve got Klingons landing on the Husk and other facilities, we’ve got ships tearing into us and the Guard and even the Star Empire – they’ve taken us completely by surprise.’

Rourke didn’t know how renegade Klingons were going to defeat two fleets. But these fleets had been battered and underpowered at even the start of the battle, and now they’d been taken completely by surprise. His jaw set as he snapped his tricorder open and saw the scan of Petrarch fill the screen.

‘Four life-signs at your shuttlebay,’ he said to Lotharn grimly. ‘Eight at mine. Two human. Six Klingon.’

‘What are these beasts playing at?’ Lotharn growled. ‘You know them?’

‘I know the House.’ Rourke flexed his left hand, on the palm of which lay the scar from his blood-bond to Torkath, son of K’Var. ‘One of the younger sons was prowling around the region when we approached. We suspect him of having Mo’Kai links -’

‘Mo’Kai,’ Lotharn sneered. ‘You mean the scapegoat the Klingons use so they can do as they wish and avoid political fallout by blaming so-called renegades? We’ve received reports of Klingon forces trying their luck across the border. This is their invasion of us when we’re weak.’

‘We can argue about the politics later.’ Something cold and hard had settled into Rourke’s gut. ‘Right now, they’ve got Ms Hale.’

Lotharn tilted his head. ‘That doesn’t sound like my problem, Rourke.’

‘The way I see it, we have three options. We can fight each other here and now, we can split up and try to take on these Klingons solo, or we can join forces.’

‘I have nothing to lose,’ said Lotharn, ‘by disappearing across this facility and letting them come to me until my ships win the fighting out there. Whatever we do here is meaningless if the Klingons win the ship battle, and we can’t impact that.’

‘It’s not meaningless for her.’ Rourke took a quick step forward, and saw Lotharn bristled. ‘You asked me here for a reason. You asked Hale here for a reason. It wasn’t to quibble over trade agreements. Help me and we can finish this negotiation, and you don’t have to go back to Rator to report defeat to your superiors.’

‘I’m not the one with my back against the wall here, Rourke. Someone whose safety is your responsibility is in the clutches of Klingons with, let us be frank, nebulous motivations at best,’ Lotharn sneered. ‘Don’t act like I need you. You need me.’ But the Romulan looked away, expression shifting before Rourke could summon a response. And at length he drew a deep breath. ‘But so do the people of Agarath. Subjects of Rator or not, these are Romulans, Remans. My kith and kin. And I will not leave them to the Klingons.’

He shouldered his rifle and extended a hand to Rourke, jaw tight. ‘Let us save your charge. And then protect these people.’

Rourke hesitated. Then he clasped the extended hand, Lotharn grabbing him by the wrist, and they exchanged curt nods. ‘Let’s do it. And I’m really looking forward to your ideas how we take out six Klingons with two hostages.’

‘Starfleet. You always think you can negotiate,’ Lotharn rolled his eyes and gave a knife-slash of a smile. ‘We deal with Klingons with Romulan trickery.’